Chipped Polish & Wornout Jeans

I guess I’ve been thinking too much again. I’ve all but given up on ever getting to be with Jake, although I miss him terribly; I still do not know what happened, and I still wonder if he left because I was a mess. I can be so harsh and abrasive, and I’m a mass of contradictions and trouble; I came with baggage and damage because the one person who’d promised me forever lied to me, cheated on me, and never had the courage to actually end the relationship, and I got scared a lot. Sometimes I feel like I was way more trouble than I was worth. I know I should move on because that would be the wise decision, the strong choice, but I have yet to get over him, even though it has been well over a year since he said it was over. My heart still break when he crosses my mind, and there are times when I need to hear his voice telling me it’s alright, and I know that can’t happen.

It seems others haven’t given up hope; my mother swears that he’s going to come back, though I find that hard to believe. She says that he still loves me, but I highly suspect that she is simply saying things to make me feel better; I’m sure that he’s moved on, and I hope he is happy. He is good man, and he will make some very lucky woman very happy; I hope whoever that woman is, she is grateful and kind and loving because he deserves that. My grandmama, who fell in love with him the moment she met him, is convinced that I will turn around and there he’ll be; she firmly believes that I just have to be patient and he’ll be back. I don’t think so. A tiny part of me still hold out hope that he will call me or show up, and I occasionally have these stupid heartbreaking dreams where there’s a knock at my door and I open it to find him standing there, waiting. I’m sure that someone else has come into his life, someone less damaged and crazy, and he’s happy. She probably swears less than I do, and she’s probably more of a lady than I’ll ever be. I think my nanny still secretly hopes that he will come back because he was smart and funny and well mannered and everything a good Southern man should be.

I will admit that there were times when the only bright spot in my day was the sound of his voice on the other end of the phone or a text message saying hi; no matter how crappy my day was, he could make me smile. I could be crying and miserable, and he’d make it better. I have moments, when I’m in tears and falling apart, that I reach for my phone and have to remind myself that I can’t call him, that he won’t answer, and he certainly will not come and kiss my tears away. I miss his smile, his laugh, the way he had so much faith in us and in God and in everything; I miss the way he held me tight, and I miss the way he’d sing in my ear when I was feeling terrible about myself. I miss the way he understood me better than anyone else, and he knows more about me than anyone else in the world; I shared all of myself with him. I just miss him. (I know you probably aren’t reading this, Jake, but on the off chance you are, I miss you, and I still love you.)

I’m trying hard not miss him so much because missing someone who isn’t interested in you is pointless, but it isn’t working. I’m trying not to wish we were still together, but it’s almost impossible. When he walked out of my life, I lost my best friend, which sounds really cheesy, but it’s true.

Fall has arrived, with weird hot and cold weather habits, and I am sitting here in my hoodie and jeans, sipping water, nibbling a nutrigrain bar, and listening to music. I realize that it has been well over two months since I last sat down at the laptop to write something for a post in this blog. I am ashamed. But I just haven't had much to write about really. Life has been boring and uneventful; all I've really done is some cleaning and work on applications for law school again. So here's watch you missed for the last two months:

The job market for law clerks and legal secretaries, which is pretty much the only reasonable paying job that a woman with a political science degree focused on pre-law and a year of law school under her belt is qualified for, is for crap. I know that is not an eloquent way to put it, but its the truth. I've called friends, family members, my doctor who has a whole family of lawyers, friends of my parents, and no one can afford to hire me. I've got a great resume (minus the lack of work experience), but I keep hearing the same thing over and over. My academics (minus last year) and extracurricular activities and skills make me marketable, but the economy makes me expensive apparently. Stupid economy, stupid job market, stupid times, my friends. So I am still jobless, despite all my attempts.

I am learning to code, and it's not as hard as I thought it would be. A lot of it is memorizing tags and where they belong, then common sense and trial and error to move and place things. Why am I doing this? Well, I got volunteered to build a website for my uncle's business, and, because it's family and there was a promise of a little fundage, I spent some of my amazon gift card money on two books on html and css. Becoming a code monkey, that's what I'm doing. I also got photoshop and illustrator, and I am attempting to learn to use them to make graphics. If anything I have managed to make something useful out of my free time.

I do believe that I have lost an inch or two in my hips because my size 13 jeans are just a bit droopy folks. My calves, oh my calves are a beautiful thing. They are tight and tones and strong. However, my midsection is still stubbornly refusing to shrink. (Well maybe it is and I just don't notice because I am angry with it for being so ridiculously chubby and slow to shape up) But I'm trying to be patient. As you know, patience in not and has never been one of my strong points. I am practicing portion control, and that's not easy. It is getting better because when I don't over eat I feel better and I'm getting to the point where I don't have to eat as much to be full. I am walking as often as possible, and jogging when I can. Lately the weather has been uncooperative and I've been kind of sick (weather change + Nic's allergies= no fun) But I am trying to get back on track.

After discovering the ridiculous amount of clutter stifling me in my little bedroom at Casa de 'Rents, I went on a cleaning spree. You see, we are finally going to begin the much anticipated remodel of the house, and its going to dominate my time. Walls are being repaired and painted, new wood flooring (no more carpet), new flooring in the bathrooms, new appliances and cabinets in the kitchen, and we are finally going to get the washer and dryer out of the kitchen area. That is all going to begin very soon, in fact, it will begin as soon as the small loan is processed, and that knowledge got me to thinking about my room, which was still full of boxes from my move back from L-Ville. I cleaned the room and started putting books away again, which is when I discovered that it was clear that my granddaddy had not anticipated the fact that I would be such a massive bibliophile when he built my bookshelf once upon a time. I had to actually redo the entire thing and store some books I never read, just to make room.

The only problem is that I will have to pack it all up again once I move out next year (Good Lord willing, I get into law school again). Which brings me to my final point. I am applying to only schools in TN, and hopefully I will get into the one in Nash-vegas so that I can either get into an apartment in the Boro or Nash-vegas instead of moving to Knox-vegas or Memphis; if this happens where ever I move will more than likely become a permanent residence for awhile, allowing me to stop being a nomad and settle into my own place. When this happens, I will get awesome cooking supplies, and I plan to start a cooking blog. I will still keep this one for personal blogging, but I will also run a blog devoted to my cooking adventures. Speaking of cooking, I think I am going to go have some fabulous tomato soup, now, out of a can of course.

Note from Nic: This blog is getting a fresh new look ASAP. It may stay black and white, but a new background and banner should be coming soon.

“The way I flew? Do you know, Jane, I sometimes wonder whether I ever did really fly” “Yes, you did.” “The dear old days when I could fly!” “Why can’t you fly now, mother?” “Because I am grown up, dearest. When people grow up they forget the way.” “Why do they forget the way?” “Because they are no longer gay and innocent and heartless. It is only the gay and innocent and heartless who can fly.” ~Peter Pan, pg 222

In case you didn’t catch it the title and opening quotes are in reference to Peter Pan and the location of Neverland. It’s sad but Peter Pan made me realize how jaded and cynical I’ve become. We read it for my children’s lit class, Children’s Fantasy Fiction, back in undergrad, and I bawled at the end when Wendy had forgotten how to fly because she grew up. I’ve grown up too… I don’t remember how to fly anymore. And when Peter said he’d teach her how again, but she told him not to waste his fairy dust on her, I almost died. I won’t ever fly again. I’ve grown up and forgotten and can’t be retaught. I’ll never remember; I’ll have but fond memories of the days when I could. I want to fly away to Neverland and fight pirates with Peter… that sounds good right now. I want to remember how to get there and how to fly. Long ago I used to fight pirates with Peter. I used to go to Neverland and play with the Lost Boys. I want to go back there. “Second to the right, and straight on till morning” That’s where I’ll go.

But the point of this entry is that I know that many people have forgotten how to fly. They’ve stopped believing, and that’s very sad. I clapped loudest when I watched the play; I clapped for Tinker Bell, who I believed in with all my heart. But lately I’ve come to realize that my clapping has grown softer, my innocence has faded away. People all around me have stopped clapping; they’ve stopped believing, and that is a tragedy. They’ve forgotten Neverland and Peter, and Neverland is childhood and hope. Whether you believe it or not, J.M. Barrie was right. We all know Neverland and Peter; we all flew away with him and fought pirates and redskins and played with the Lost Boys, and eventually we all flew home and grew up. “On these magical shores children at play are for ever beaching their coracles. We too have been there; we can still hear the sound of the surf, though we shall land no more.” The main problem is that we will never land on the shores of that dreadful paradise again, where adventure would sweep us away, and we would be free and innocent. Neverland is not a safe place all the time, and our companion Peter Pan is careless and cruel at times, but it is a paradise to be certain.

Maybe it is that we grow up too fast now, achieving adulthood and abandoning Neverland before we should. Forgetting our old adventures as we discover the troubles and difficulties of adult responsibilities, which are much more difficult to battle than the pirates of our youth. Once upon a time we fought pirates and redskins, we defeated Captian Hook and watched as he fell to the crocodile. But we don’t remember that; we don’t remember Tiger Lily or the Neverbird. We’ve forgotten. And I cry for us, for our past. I do not wish to be Peter, who is still a little boy, but I do wish I could remember how to fly, just once, and head back to Neverland for another adventure.

Deep within us, there is a sprinkle of fairy dust and a happy thought, and that will let us fly. In the shadows there is a boy in a garment of green playing the pipes or brandishing a dagger. He’s crying as he tries to stick his shadow back on with soap or perhaps he’s crowing with glee and delight. Some night while you are sitting in your room, you’ll hear a crow and the window will blow open and a boy will drop in on the floor. He will be the same as ever, and he will have all his first teeth. Now he might forget you from time to time, but you mustn’t forget him, for he will come back eventually. He is a careless little boy. Peter doesn’t change, we do. But if you listen closely you can hear him whispering to you.

The weather was beautiful yesterday, mild and clear and sunny, and its pretty much the same today. It really feels like Spring outside, and if it weren't for all the studying I have to do, I would definitely spend my time outside, taking pictures, and soaking in the beauty of it all. I hate to admit it, but this Yankee city (and this Yankee campus) is really nice right now. I know that L-ville is not exactly NYC-northern, but its definitely not the South. I had to explain what yonder means to someone today at lunch. Back on topic. I love Spring (I know I also said I love Fall and I do); it's a great season, minus all the rain and allergies. I think for me Spring represents something wonderful, and that's why I love it so much. Spring is rebirth, renewal, a ressurection; everything seems to come back to life. Flowers are in bloom, trees are beginning to green up, and the world seems to waking up from a long sleep. I think that it makes sense that Easter is at the beginning of Spring; the Resurrection of Jesus coincides with the rebirth of nature. I am trying to let this season renew me. I am trying to let it give me hope. I believe in miracles, and I believe that somethings are just meant to be. I believe that life and love can be like nature. Sometimes it takes a winter to bring about a spring. This is a really short entry, and I apologize. But there is an almost finished CivPro outline demanding to be finished.

After reading an entry from one of my favorite blogs, Nat the Fat Rat, I feel rather inspired. Nat is inspiring because of her faith, her wit, her honesty, and her unending and true love for her husband; she is reading the Old Testament, and her latest entry about the women of Genesis got me to thinking. She found a connection with Rachel and so have I, but we have different reasons. So dear readers, here is another more personal entry at Chipped Polish & Wornout Jeans. The concept of "Let go and just let God" is not foreign to me, and its not a difficult concept to understand. However, it is a difficult thing for me to execute. The ideas that everything happens for a reason, what's meant to be always finds a way, and God has a plan are also not difficult for me. This brings me to the thoughts bouncing around in my head right now. I have always believed that I am the kind of woman who will not get things handed to me; I know that I may always have to fight for what I want. I can handle that. But sometimes life and the universe throw me curves, and I feel like I swing and miss. Lately I've felt like that a lot more than usual. So I've taken a step back, and I'm looking at all of this with fresh eyes. I take hope that God will remember me, and He will eventually put things together as they should be. Maybe it won't be with Jake, but I hope it will.

You see, I had a realization, one Sunday as I sat with Jake in the front pews of his church; he stood up to go lead the next song, and as we all I stood, I realized that God had picked him out for me to be with. And so I prayed that God would help me do what it took to stay with him, and to make me the kind of woman Jake deserves. I pray now that He will help to save my relationship, though it is in shambles, and it that is what is meant to be, I know that it will eventually happen. That realization was not the first, but it was one of many. None of those are blogged about here in C & W because they happened before I started this blog. The first occured the first Wednesday I went to church with him; there I was sitting in the Bible Study, and they were talking about how sometimes we set our minds to some sort of desire and fail to realize that God has other plans for us or refuse to accept it. My hands rested on my wornout pink Bible, and I glanced over at Jake. I realized then that I was doing just that, stubbornly clinging to a path that wasn't leading to where I should be. At that point I wasn't sure where my path was supposed to lead or what my path was supposed to be; I just knew my path was wrong. Then I had another realization, one more powerful. I was riding to church with him, and I was struck by how perfect it felt to be headed there with him. I knew in my heart that I belonged with him and that I was supposed to be on a path toward him, but it didn't sink in well I guess. Then came that Sunday morning, sitting in the front pews with him because he was leading singing that day, his arm around my shoulder, my eyes following along in the text, then watching as he stood up to lead another song. Everything seemed so right; I heard this voice telling me that I had to be strong, that I had to hold on, that I should not lose him. And so I tried my hardest to do just that. Then in January I had this realization, and I knew right then, where I was meant to be. All that time I had spent being a fool felt so wasted.

The story of Jacob and Rachel had special significance for us. Jake kept reminding me of that story, over and over, as we struggled to even be able to see each other. I grew to resent that story a little bit, perhaps because it did not give me the kind of hope I wanted or perhaps because I was just so frustrated and missing him so much. But looking at it now, I see it differently.The basic story goes like this. Rachel is the daughter of a proud and sneaky man, who tells Jacob he can marry her after seven years hard labor, and then pulls a sneaky trick by slipping Leah in at the wedding instead. Rachel is who Jacob loves most, and for Rachel he continues to work for his father-in-law. Genesis 29:20 “And Jacob served seven years for Rachel; and they seemed unto him but a few days, for the love he had to her.” It was always Jake’s constant reminder that we were so in love that even the longest time apart would seem short in the end. The story continues with Rachel’s struggle to have children, while her sister can easily have them. She prays and prays and begs God for help. Genesis 30:22 "And God remembered Rachel." She kept praying and talking to God and trying. And eventually God answered. That is what I take from the story now. God had a plan for her, and, when it was time, he Brought that plan to fruition. Her prays were answered, and she was blessed. I believe that God has a plan and that, whatever that plan is, He will work with you and bring it about.

Every time Jake and I would have some sort of trouble, be it a set back like my grades or the difficulty we had during Winter Break, I would pray that things would work out. I'd pray for us, pray that I would be a better girlfriend, more patient and less stubborn. Every time I did, I got the same answer "Be strong, have faith, it will all work out. Don't give up." It went something like this:

I had to move to L-Ville and prayed that we could handle the distance: "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up."
Getting into the same law school was going to be difficult and I prayed that even if we didn't we could handle it: "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up."
There was absolutely no way we'd get into the same law school and I prayed for strength and patience: "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up."
Jake and I were not on the same page mostly because I was an impatient fool and I prayed for help to become a better friend, partner, and girlfriend: "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up."
Jake called, deciding we were over and I prayed that we would be able to fix this: "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up."

Now I find myself on my knees praying that we can save us, that all is not lost. I pray that somehow, some way, the story is not over for us. I pray that we aren't broken forever. I still feel like I'm supposed to be with him. I still feel like that is the plan because I am still getting the same answer. "Be strong, have faith, it will all work out. Don't give up." Maybe the plan has changed, but I just don't think so. We'd come so far, and we were so close. We were so in love and so happy. I know that sometimes things happen and couples fall apart, but I just can't shake the feeling that things aren't right because we are apart. It doesn't make sense (but don't get me started on things that don't make sense). So I'm going to remember the story of Jacob and Rachel, and how God remembered Rachel and answered her prayers and brought His plan for her into fruition. And I'm going to keep praying even if the answer remains the same refrain. "Be strong, have faith; it will all work out. Don't give up." I'm going to what I need to do, and I will survive, no matter what the plan.

I am back in the Shoebox, warming up and finishing the last of my homework for tomorrow. Like I mentioned last entry, I went on the church retreat in Gatlinburg/Pigeon Forge with Jake and the young adult group from his church. Have you ever felt like your spirit, your heart, your mind, and (yes this sounds cheesy) your soul has been sort of recharged, revived, and renewed? Well coming back from that retreat that's sort of how I feel.

Friday night we arrived at the cabin, after a hilarious trip up to the mountains; we went through Maryville, which looked like a low rent version of Woodbury, TN, passed a really seedy looking place (it was obviously some sort of strip club) that looked to have a $1 an hour motel attached, and went through an area where we could swear we were hearing banjo music (Deliverance style). The parking situation wasn't pleasant, but we made do; of course we hadn't eaten, so we went to TGIFriday's for a late dinner with another couple. It was fun to go out and chat with another couple. We played a little air hockey and relaxed. Saturday morning we got up, had breakfast, and then the morning devotional. The topic was Today, as in living for Today; I found myself recalling the fact that I am really bad about regrets at times. I get hung up in the past, and I fail to live for Today. There is so much good happening right now, and I know that if I'm not paying attention I will miss it. I have a good life; I have a great family, a future, and the most wonderful man in my life. During the day, Jacob and I went with two other couples and a friend of his to Gatlinburg where we just sort of browsed for the day. It was nice to just wander around and have nothing to do. There were some people doing the Free Hug thing, which Jake was creeped out by, but other than that it was a nice relaxing trip.

That evening Jake and I snuggled on the couch, and I sort of half watched the Cardinals/Saints game, since it was on in the main sitting area. I really didn't care what was on the television at that point so long as Jacob ad I could stay where we were on the couch. Saturday night's devotional type thing was about Forgiveness, which brings me to the title of the entry. I tend to have trouble forgiving myself for my past mistakes; I will spend quite some time beating myself up over things that I can't change. This is also part of that whole living for today bit. I've also been holding on to a touch of bitterness from that old heartbreak from almost a year and a half ago, and I really shouldn't. Part of me sometimes wishes that the ex finds himself realizing that he's missed out; part of me wishes that he had just a little bit of regret for leaving me. But, as we sat watching House on TV and I absently played with Jake's hair, I got to thinking. I really don't have to keep being angry and bitter about the old wounds; they've mostly healed up, and I've got this fantastic man in my life who treats me better than I could ever ask and loves me. And if I just let go, I will be able to live, to really live. I can let it go and wish the ex well, because I can move on with my life. I've got a whole lot to look forward to now.

It was great weekend, something I really needed. It was great to spend some time just relaxing, and it was pretty cool to sort of live in the same house with Jake. The mountains were beautiful, the lessons were powerful, and it was just the sort of recharging, reviving, and renewing that I needed. There was something great about the singing this weekend, too. There is nothin' quite like listening to Jake sing, and I was sitting next to him; he's got a great voice, and it sort of reaches you at times. To sing with him is amazing. There was something about adding my voice to the other voices lifted to sing to and for God that was really powerful. Music has always spoken to me, and I guess it always will. C.S. Lewis wrote about the Deep Magic in his Chronicles of Narnia, which anyone who really knows their C.S. Lewis, and most people with any brains at all, knows is a series about Christianity and Jesus and faith. The Deep Magic is part of what connects Narnia's inhabitants to each other in the same way that faith and a common love and belief in God and Jesus connects Christians. I think that part of what rings for me is that when we were singing, you could feel that connection, that Deep Magic so to speak. I don't have a great voice, but I do love to sing; there was something amazing about singing those songs with Jake and the rest of the group.

This particular line we sang hit me. "Lord you know just where I've been so light the fire in my heart again". I was in desperate need of recharge, not only in mind and body, but in spirit. And this weekend helped with that. Sunday morning there was a time where we all sat in silence and if anyone had anything to say to the group, they could. I don't know how it happened, but I just suddenly felt the need to say how grateful I was to be there. And as sort of lame as it was, I cried. I couldn't help it; all of a sudden it was just there and I felt like I had to speak up in a way I hadn't before, at least in front of those people. There is something to be said about being completely recharged all over, body, mind, heart, and spirit. Sometimes things just happen, and I know they happen for a reason. I was meant to love and lose the ex because I was meant to hurt enough for my eyes to open. I was meant to find my way to where I am now. There is a reason that I'm not with the first boy I ever loved. I was supposed to meet Jake, I was supposed to love him, and I am suppose to be with him. I prayed a lot for God to show me the way, and then like a typical blind human being, I wasn't paying attention. I'm paying attention now.

I always think of the Yes, Virginia Editorial when people make a huge deal about how Santa isn't real. While you may not believe that he is a real person, the idea of Santa Claus is something that should be cherished, especially for kids. I mean Santa Claus is not about the gifts and cookies and milk and fat men in red suits. It's about love and faith and hope and generosity. I think that if you obsess over whether there really is a fat man in a red suit who comes down chimneys and eats milk and cookies and has flying reindeer, you are sort of missing the point. It is Christmas Eve I would like to share something with my readers that chokes me up every year. So here is the Yes, Virginia Editorial:

"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old.
"Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus.
"Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.'
"Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?

"VIRGINIA O'HANLON.
"115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.

No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Taken from Yes, Virginia

I know that I will be too busy to blog tomorrow since I'm having a girl's day out with Mama during the day and then I'm going to be at MTSU judging mock trial tomorrow night. However, I really wanted to do this post because it is really important to me and I'm trying to make this blog worth what visits it gets. Tomorrow is To Write Love on Her Arms day, and if you don't know what that is click this link right here: TWLOHA. It's a movement about self love and the prevention of self injury and suicide; it's about fighting addiction and depression and  And it's personal for me for a reason I will get to in a moment. So tomorrow on the inside of my left wrist in small black letters you will find the word love; I'd do it a little bigger but there is a need for me to look at least semi-professional and presentable at the tournament.

I said that for me TWLOHA is personal. That's because when I was a sophomore in college, which seems so long ago, I lost a good friend to suicide; it's something that I will never really forget. That phone call from a friend who was like a brother, hearing his voice shake as he tried to tell me the news, the tears I could hear over the phone, they are as clear to me as that night I got the midnight message. I can still feel the shock, the pain, the confusion, and the loss like it happened yesterday. The scream in my head was that this was some sick joke, that it could never happen to one of us. We were invincible, all powerful, untouchable, blessed. Our diverse group had seen enough damage, emotional baggage, and hurt. But in the end that stuff just seemed so petty and minor. Who gave a damn about break ups, hang ups, and stupid fights? He was dead, and we couldn't bring him back. We'd broken the one thing we'd promised as people began graduating and moving. To always be there; to never let anything happen to us. I can still remember the funeral, the tears running down my cheeks, the sudden realization of my own mortality, the way the wind cut through my sweater as I stood beside my friends watching the casket lower into the ground, and the way we all tried not to fall to pieces. It was not the first time that I knew someone who had committed suicide, but it was the first time it was so close to me. I remember thinking: "God, why did You let this happen? Why take him from us? Why didn't You stop him? Why didn't You give us some kind of sign that he needed us?" And I remember blaming myself for not noticing, for letting our little group of friends fall apart just because we were no longer having lunch all together and meeting up as often, for being too wrapped up in the drama and insanity of my own life. I remember wondering most of all: Why he felt there was no other answer, why he thought that it was the only way, why he hadn't come to me or to any one of our group? Did he think we didn't care, that we wouldn't drop everything to save him, that we wouldn't listen, that we could not do anything? He was supposed to be the sane one, and he had been our rock when we needed him. He'd talked us through so many hard times. He'd kept us together. I remember feeling as though we'd failed him, though I knew that we hadn't really. We'd loved him, and we hadn't known he was in trouble. I still wonder what life would be like had we known something and been able to save him. Would our little group have stayed together instead of scattering to the winds? I don't know, but I do know that I will always miss him and always wish that something had saved him. I remember him because he was my friend, because he was my brother, and because I loved him like a brother.

So I write love on my arm for Nathan, who saw no other option, for the friends we've all lost, and the one's we will try to save. I write love on my arm and whisper a prayer for those who need help. I ask God to send an angel to those people who are lost and searching for an answer. I write love on my arm because my life matters and so does everyone else's. I write love on my arm because we are all in this together and because you never know when you will turn the corner and find someone in need. I write love on my arm in memory of those who have gone and those who are saved. I write love on my arm for everyone out there.